An Unexpected Inspiration

We have all done things we wanted to do, but that put us outside our comfort zone. Often these experiences change us in ways we could not have imagined. I had such an experience this past summer when I attended a language camp. I knew no one and had no understanding of the language I was set to learn.

I was approaching my senior year and was sorely lacking in language credits. I had taken French my Freshman year and began a class my Junior year, but I could not seem to wrap my mind and tongue around the language.  It is not that I didn’t care about learning a language. I wanted to learn a language and needed to for my chosen career path. So I did something drastic. I found the most opposite yet interesting language I could think of and signed up for a four-week, no-outside-world language immersion camp in Minnesota. The language I chose was Russian.

At camp, I was assigned to a cabin with nine other girls I had never met before. Not knowing what to expect, I began to get to know them. Seven of the nine girls whom I lived with were adopted at a young age from Russia and were at camp to regain a language they had lost. My family experience was dramatically different from my new friends. I have always had a family and a home in which to live. One girl in my cabin watched her mother hang herself at age five and was put in an orphanage along with her brother when their father was jailed. She did not remember much about her life at the orphanage except that when she didn’t obey, her head was held under water. As I came to know these girls and their experiences, I realized I needed to do something.

I returned home after those four weeks with different plans and perspectives. After becoming familiar with the people behind the stories, I decided that if I could help even one child through a similar experience, I would. I have decided that when I am ready to take care of a child of my own, I will be adopting, preferably from Russia, but until then there is still much I can do. I enjoy studying Russian, so when I returned I enrolled in a dual credit Russian class at the University of Texas at Arlington. By fate or coincidence, my Russian teacher had co-founded an organization called Allies in Youth Development years ago. Allies’ goal is to help and encourage orphans in Russia by sending supplies and by fostering a relationship between the orphans and college students local to the region. I have attended fundraisers, am planning one of my own, sponsored a child, and am trying to work out a way to visit Russia and the orphanages with Allies.

I knew, going to camp, that I would learn a language, but I never expected it to change my life. And without a doubt, that is what it did. My life plans have changed in an astonishing way. I am not just taking a language class; I am helping to change lives.

I Don't Want Children, And That's OK

“The expectation is that they will marry and have children,” explains Sue Fagalde Lick, author of Childless by Marriage. “If they don’t, everyone wants to know what’s wrong with them.” 

Today at church we had a 'baby dedication ceremony'. Basically, anyone who has had a kid in the past 365 days stands on stage and is told how important their role as parent and teacher is while everyone in the audience oohs and ahhs over their squishy faces. People make jokes about "That will be you one day!" and "I can't wait to be a parent!". It's great and encouraging.

      But I don't get it.

I just don't understand. When I see little kids, I think they are adorable, but I mainly want them to be kept away from me. When I looked at the stage full of parents and children this morning, I didn't see my future. I saw burden and mess and lost freedom. Don't get me wrong; children are a beautiful thing and I know that they are blessings to many. They just aren't for me. Of course, I've thought about how I might parent or what I might choose to name a child, but these are largely thought experiments. The idea of being pregnant is repulsive and the idea of having to care for a child oppressive, no matter what stage of my life I frame the picture in (not to even mention the litany of health challenges and genetic counseling my partner and I would have to go through). I know many women do not share this opinion, but that is the point. There is no uniform view on motherhood and children that can be assigned to a person simply because of their gender. 

This perspective tends to make normal interactions... interesting. During Bible studies, lessons are impacted down to 'how such and such will affect your future husband and children,' or people show me baby gifs and I go 'meh, I guess that's cute'. The list goes on: 'You are going to be such a wonderful mother one day!' 'Would you really want him to be the father of your children?' 'How will you balance such a demanding career with raising your kids?' (mind you, I have neither the career nor the children presently, which makes this particular question all the more puzzling). These assumptions that I will/want to/ought to be a mother simply because I am a woman are frustrating and we ought to work to eradicate them. More toxic, however, are the responses I receive when I reply 'no, not really,' to the much-dreaded children question. I am told to 'just wait' or maybe given a smile and nod combination that seem to say 'ahhh suuuure you don't want children'. Or my personal favorite: 'then what will you do?' which points to the underlying assumption: that somehow, becoming a parent will 'fill' me or give me some long lost purpose. 

I know that my purpose is not to be a mother. I just know. Perhaps one day I'll be in a situation where I decide to adopt a child who needs me, and I will love them and teach them to the best of my ability. But it wouldn't be to complete my main mission. It would be to help someone else who needs me. Important and worthwhile, sure. But not my 'calling'. 

I am perfectly at ease with this fact. But society isn't. A study in 2012 concluded that "Motherhood is so highly connected with adult femininity in the United States that many women feel that they need to be mothers." Kelly Flynn wrote a poignant letter in which she summarized the judgment she felt: "The unasked question hangs in the air: 'You don’t have children because — —?' The implication is that if I chose a life without children, I am cold. If I can’t have children, I am to be pitied." Women across the country have faced this reality, regardless of whether their child-free state was an intentional decision. When I tell people in all seriousness that I don't want children, they "want to know what’s wrong with" me. The answer is, of course, nothing, but this consistent pressure is what made me sit in church this morning and wonder "what if something really is wrong with me, what if I really am broken?" 

We need to stop. We need to halt our assumptions, get to know people's hopes and plans before talking about their 'future children'. Such assumptions are inaccurate and damaging. We must likewise halt our judgments. Childless women are not inherently cold, no more than childless men are. 

If a woman ever tells you that she doesn't like kids or doesn't plan to have any, don't tell her that she'll change her mind 'one day!'. Don't even ask her why.   
Just say 'cool', make note, and move on. 

Racial Anger and Dallas

I live near Dallas. I was in sight of downtown today. This is my home, and I am angry.

Before I continue, you should know a couple things:

1. I am not debating nor wanting to debate the validity anger surrounding police shootings. I know that in most of these situations both the cop and the victim's loved ones believe they did/were doing the right thing in the moment. Debating the validity does not solve problems and it does not mean the anger goes away, so frankly it is pointless.
2. There are times where I will be generalizing. I totally know that each individual handle anger differently and so many in Dallas tonight were peacefully managing and trying to solve their anger. This post supports the actions oof those people. 
3. Context:11 Police Officers Shot in Dallas

So, I am angry. African Americans are angry. There is plenty of anger to go around tonight on all sides for so many different reasons. I am here to tell everyone feeling anger and frustration and sadness over this event one thing: Angry is ok. It is even good. It tells us something is wrong either in reality or in perception. 

So, I am angry. You are angry. And it's ok. What's next? I have created a three-step process to managing pain and emotions in order to help myself and my family:

1) Recognise that you are feeling anger. You can fix what you don't know.

2) Figure out why you are angry. For example: is it because cops in your city were shot from rooftops? Is it because there is a pattern of racially based decisions regarding threat validity? Is it because these shootings have not received as much air time or interest as Trump's recent gaffe or TayTay's new beau? You can't address the feeling when you don't know the core cause.

3) Fix it. 

But how do we fix it? By breaking the cycle. Conflicts, history, and the seasons are all naturally cyclical. In police brutality the cycle looks like this (it's a circle y'all, but Blogger doesn't let me make bullet lists in the shape of one ;P): 

•  Media reports 'unarmed black man shot by police' remember, the validity of what actually happened doesn't really matter much to us. We still feel angry, so there is something that needs to be fixed (in another situation I might suggest that what 'needs to be fixed' is actually our perception, but because this issue is so subjective and widespread that while the problem might no be as severe as some see we have to all agree that there is a pattern of racially based decisions regarding threat validity.)
• Protests occur many even most will be peaceful.
• Headlines change from 'protests occurring' to 'riots' a riot only has to happen in one city to create this change, and the reality is that the one violent activity will likely be perpetrated by African Americans.
• Police tense and more on guard depending on the size of the event this could affect one city or even the nation. Dallas will affect the whole nation.
• An officer pulls over or encounters an African American and for some reason identifies a potential threat most officers that cause headline ABSOLUTELY have some suspicion regarding the victim's action.  
• The officer instantaneously and subconsciously has to conduct a threat validity assessment what this means is that an officer has to evaluate the likelihood of this suspicion being a life-threatening reality. What this means is that the tensions and worries about the one fringe riot likely play a key part it that evaluation. The officer's subconscious is going 'my friend's storefront was ravaged by the Fergeson riots' or '11 of my fellow officers were shot down trying to protect protests by violent protesters. I AM NOT EXCUSING THEIR DECISIONS. In order to fix we need to know why and how. We absolutely need fair reviews of such shootings. 
• BONUS: No conviction or repercussions fuels more protests

The take-away should be that anger directed toward individual officers are misguided. Direct anger toward the system instead. Step 3 was 'fix it'. The only way to fix this problem is to break the above cycle. The two points in the circle we can best address is the 'riot' and the actual 'shooting'. Here are real, reasonable ways to begin to break the circle at those points:

1. Very clearly condemning ANY violence. This is often done after the fact, but it goes further than that. Stop telling jokes about it. Tell people around you that you will leave if they joke about it. This applies to cop killing/violence, looting, jokes about the shooting of unarmed individuals, etc. 
2. Police oversight. I am a big supporter of body cameras for police. These cameras are PROVEN to reduce the use of violence used by officers (due to increased consciousness regarding decisions to use violent means) and reduce violence against and agitation of officers. Body cams really do help both sides. Additionally, if a shooting does occur we have the ability to review footage of the FULL incident. If we had such footage of the Ferguson catastrophe it would have changed the whole narrative.
   

Recognize.

Why.

Fix.

"It's not us vs them. This peaceful protest is about all of us coming together to solve problems." -A peaceful protester who witnessed the shooting of 11 officers in Dallas this evening; he was interviewed by Fox News because apparently I don't get CNN anymore.

Allergic Child Met With Applause

This whole situation is tragic. 

http://www.wfaa.com/news/nation-now/passengers-applaud-as-boy-removed-from-plane-for-allergies/

The poor child had no control of the situation, yet was met with applause when forced to leave (a prospect I worry about every time I fly). Obviously these people weren't trying to be cruel. They were happy their plane could finally leave. But they were not considering a single human being other than themselves. 

As someone who has had food allergies her entire life, I KNOW people can be flat out cruel when you request them to change something small in order to avoid an allergen: from PTA intentionally bringing nut muffins because they were so annoyed that you bothered them with 'your problems', to people who understand just what 'life threatening allergy' means yet still telling you that it's wayy to much to request students wash their hands after eating pb&js. This list could go on. 

Many are just uninformed, some simply don't care about you (like the individuals in this article), and others are honestly trying to spite you. It doesn't really matter what category you fall under. As a decent human being it is your duty to help others avoid a situation where they could possibly DIE. 

I'm an adult. I don't expect you to change your eating habits for me. I've had 18 years to figure out how to navigate the world without your help (sometimes that might even include the decision to avoid you). But a /child/ doesn't have that experience or maturity. Often they can't cut you out. How much is it, really, to put away the bowl of nuts when a parent concerned for their child's life asks? Or, if you know that so-and-so will be at the banquet, to keep the labels on the cookies you bought at the bakery? 

Be conscious of those around you. Do the right thing. Be a decent human. 

Thanks to all the awesome humans who have helped me stay alive year-to-year 😊💖

On Bernie Sanders

I'm listening to Bernie Sanders' victory speech and I agree with 80-90% of what he is saying. The reason he appeals to my generation so strongly is because he correctly identifies and is passionate about solving the problems that are so glaring to those of us who have to live in the future. Later, when there is a transcript published I'll make a list in the comments.

Additionally, he is so authentic about his beliefs in a time when politics is fraught with issue, reality, and honesty-avoiding in favor of keeping their seats and privileges. Listening to him makes me WANT to want to vote for him (no, that's not a typo). Those who have judged or competed in debate will understand this phenomenon.

However, as a debater, I also understand that we must step back, away from the charisma, away from his passionate honesty and look at his proposals and their consequences on a spreadsheet scrubbed of our own wants. When I do this, I see that the socialist proposals of Bernie would not fix the very real problems he, and I, see. The way to fix those problems is not to raise tax rates or pay for college tuition but to cut out loopholes and encourage a higher teaching standard with fewer full-time-non-teaching-7-figure-making positions (this could be achieved by slowing and simplifying the insane college admissions process).

As much as I want to want Sanders as an ideologue who believes in the same future that I do, I can't let myself. Because his policies won't bring about that future that I look forward to being a part of.

Unfortunately, I don't think many republican candidates believe in the future and can clearly see the problems enough to put away their partisan bickering and their hawkish protection of their seats. So, this is the struggle we are presented with this election. Those who vote for Bernie are not stupid. They believe too much to LOOK. And I admire their belief in and desire for a future to love and be proud of.

Wanderlust

When you are already having a particularly bad bout of wanderlust and an email with the subject line "A lakefront Mayan paradise overlooking misty volcanoes" containing such enticing images floats into your inbox, you begin to wonder just how much your part of the world would miss you if you took off to explore and never looked back. But then you remember that it would, in fact, miss you quite a bit between family and various responsibilities meant to secure your ability to fly away to the unknown at some point in your undefined future. And so, you are, understandably, both saddened and inspired.

My Path To International Relations

            I was sitting on a plane home from Minneapolis to DFW after spending a month in a place I’d never been, living with people I’d never met, studying a language I’d never heard before. How did I get here?

            Rewind a little less than 5 years ago. Thirteen-year-old me is standing on the steps of Texas’ capital, giving a speech on SB 27 to a crowd of 100 and not knowing that this was just the beginning. The Legislation Coordinator from Austin Families with Food Allergies was so impressed by my presentation, that she invited me to testify in front of the House and Senate Education Committees. Both testimonies went swimmingly, and I have reasons to cherish them both, but it is what happened after my testimony in the House that stands out: Representative Mark Strama came down from his stand and asked me a question, “Have you ever considered doing debate?”.  This question, this timing, had the ability to alter the course of my future.

            I took Rep. Strama’s advice and searched out a local debate team. By the fall, I was writing a case, finding a partner, and competing. Over the next four years, I competed in Team Policy and Parliamentary Debate, qualifying for Nationals four times and, my Sophomore year, finishing 30th in the nation.  I also began competing in a speech event called Extemporaneous. This event required me to read and learn about current affairs. In competition, I have 30 minutes to recall information I had researched and write a six-minute speech about a topic assigned to me.   I LOVED this event. My coach saw my adoration and, in my fourth competition year, made me Extemp coach. Up until then, I thought I was destined to become a lawyer, but Extemp helped me realize that career path was not the one I had a passion for.

            I thought long and hard about what exactly I wanted to do with my life, now that my top career option was now off the table. I Googled, read, and questioned to find something new that incorporated all the things I adored about Extemp: learning about and analyzing current events, trying to find solutions to global problems, being able to use the communication skills I had acquired, and ever changing circumstances. What I found was the nebulous field of International Relations.
 The more I researched, the more enamored I became with the idea that I could study topics I loved then go on to make a difference. International Affairs, Foreign Relations, or what ever title you assign to this expansive field of study, fulfilled all of my parameters. It focuses on using your knowledge about the world and how it turns to resolve conflict, all while having to take into account the vast variables that could help or hinder your cause. I have found my field and am determined to pursue my passion for it.

            So here I am. Sitting on an airplane. Thinking of how incredible it is that one speech at 13 could impact so much. There is no way that I would have pushed my parents to send me to the Russian language immersion camp I’m on my way home from. No way I would have discovered the beautifully intricate field of Foreign Affairs. My journey to here has been incredible, and I look forward to the ways these ripples will continue to influence my life through my future in Foreign Affairs.

Why #PrayForParis is Significant

I have so many words to say over this tragedy. I want to rant about why it happend. Speculate over what will happen next. Yell at someone who could have prevented it. But none of these words would help those suffering.

So, what I am going to discuss (today at least) is #PrayForParis. 

Immediately after the attack, the posts began. On Twitter  #PrayForParis began trending. Celebrities were tweeting it. News sources were and are tweeting it. Liberals and conservatives. It's a bit odd as to why. 

It isn't normal for everyone to call for prayers. It's actually abnormal. The question, then, is why. 

Could it be that when there is literally nothing we can do about a situation we instinctively find comfort in prayer? I believe that most individuals want to be able to 'get by' on their own. But when they can't, when a tragedy has occurred, individuals of all backgrounds turn instinctively to a higher power. 

 #PrayForParis is important for so many reasons. But its significance comes from the comfort we feel knowing that someone bigger is looking out for our world. That there is someone we can turn to when there is nothing else. 

Now that I have made my main point, I'd like to remind those who have tweeted  #PrayForParis to actually pray. The sentiment is a good one, but will do nothing unless we follow through on it. 

Melancholy

“Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.”

― William Shakespeare, Macbeth

When I don't know something I research. I read articles and blogs. I search for quotes and sift through hundreds to find one or two that are perfectly describe the event I'm analyzing or the emotions I'm experiencing. 

I am writing because I feel that it is all I can do. I am sad today. I'm not depressed, just sad. The closest, most descriptive word I can find to describe what I am feeling is melancholy. I can be wildly exuberant and colorful one moment, then the next the clouds have slid over the sun that is my colorful personality.

I'll put it in my own words:

I feel as though there is something missing from inside me. I'm not sure what. Sometimes it's there but at other times it simply disappears. I am still just as determined as I was before. I get things done. But I feel a little empty. You could do something wonderful for me, and it might make it better, but likely no matter how much I appreciate what you've done or how much I love the thing you said I don't want to smile. I probably will, I don't want to hurt you above all. But it feels like by smiling I am betraying some deep part of myself that, within this moment, needs to be sad. This feeling lingers. It comes and goes as it pleases. Sometimes I can pin down the event that invited it in, but often I cannot. So I greatly appreciate Sylvia Plath when she writes "I didn't know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of the throat and I'd cry for a week.” 

I think often about my own emotional state, but voicing the words can bring on torrents of tears. (I despise tears. I should probably work on that) The result is: I have a profound understanding of my own self, but few others do. My sadness is often mistaken for coldness, a forced smile for dislike. 

Friends, family, and strangers have often told me I need to 'open up' or to 'not push others away'. They are probably right in that the perception of my melancholy likely makes me seem aloof or uncaring. What they do not see is how very much I care. What they don't recognize are the times I've put on the 'happy mask' just for them, because though I accept the sadness I possess, they do not. I still haven't found a way to make myself 'more open' or 'more approachable' without feeling self-betrayal and, sometimes, an even deeper sadness due to the disloyalty to that moments nature. Because there truly is a beauty in my melancholy.

So I write. To explore my thoughts, to make an attempt to be open with this ever demanding world. 

Goodbye London, Hello Nostalgia

Walking the streets of London as darkness descends almost lost isn't nearly as frustrating as one might think. When you've fallen in love with a city, wandering without finding your destination is not a burden.

I've been thinking about my 16th birthday present.  I received a trip to London then Paris. I entirely expected to prefer Paris to London, probably because of the constant romanticizing of the City of Lights, but I was surprised by myself. I started slowly, with an adoration of tea and scones and slowly evolved. I noticed the history intermingled with a modern city. I noticed the almost pristine roads. I developed an intense weakness for the Royal Guard and the Royal Gardens. But all good things come to an end. So we left for Paris and the nostalgia began. I won't lie: the rooftop view of Paris is one of the most beautiful sights I've ever laid eyes on, but it couldn't compare to the whole city of London. Perhaps if I return, I will realize I've created a place in my memories that never really existed, maybe next time I will explore Paris the way I wandered London and realize my love isn't just for London, but simply for the beautiful, richly historic cities of the world.

Midnight by Barcelona

I've been writing college essays and listening to music almost all day. The music part has been fun, but don't even get me started on how hard it is for a relatively closed off person to write an essay bragging about yourself.

Anyway, this song just came up on Spotify, and it reflected some of the things I've thinking about recently and some of the things I've been trying to communicate in my essay.


Hint: This song shows 100% what every deep-feeling introvert really wants in friends/significant other/family :)

Enjoy!

Hot Gates

I was just listening to Mumford & Sons new album Wilder Mind, and out of all the beautiful songs, this one really spoke to me:

Essay on Louisa May Alcott's 'Death of a Soldier' from Hospital Sketches

I am writing a lot to practice for the AP English test, and this is a response to one prompt. This isn't my usual writing style, so I would love your opinion on how it sounds and flows because in all honesty, it sounds horribly awkward to me, but that might just be because I'm not used to this style. Here is a link to the original story: http://grammar.about.com/od/classicessays/a/Death-Of-A-Soldier-By-Louisa-May-Alcott.htm 

There is something incredibly touching and sobering about a well-written account of a soldier who died fighting for what he believed in. Louisa May Alcott recorded her own soul wrenching encounter with beautiful metaphors and touching dialog in her non-fiction narrative Hospital Sketches.  Alcott seamlessly conveys the sympathy and care she felt for a dying Civil War soldier at the hospital where she was a nurse.

“Every breath he draws is like a stab.”  One compelling way Alcott catches the sympathies of her reader is through descriptive similes like the one above and lyrical metaphors. When the author describes a wounded and dying soldier's, named John, pain as “like a stab” it gives us a reference point. We know what breathing is supposed to be like: constant, easy, and second nature. We also know, in some context, what “a stab” feels like. A stabbing sensation is associated with a quick, sharp pain that cannot go unnoticed. When “every breath… is like a stab” that gives the reader a very specific picture and sensation. Alcott once again uses simile saying, “gathering the bent head in my arms as freely as if he had been a little child”. This example conveys the picture of John being vulnerable as a young child would be. The author uses two touching metaphor. The first is used to describe John’s last breaths: “the heavy breaths still tore their way up… short they were but the waves of an ebbing tide that beat unfelt against the wreck.”           

Alcott recounts John’s words through dialog in order to show the reader what kind of character John had. Starting with the first lines of dialog, we learn that “there isn’t the slightest hope for him.” This line begins the reader’s sympathy for John. After Alcott says, “let me help you bear I, John” we get the first glimpse at John’s character. He whispers his response “thank you, m’am… I didn’t like to be trouble.” And we know. We know that John, even when he is on the brink of death, thinks of others first. We know that he is a kind person. And we know that we care about what will happen next. The Author describes John’s dialog as “so hopeful[ly] when there was no hope.” John not only is a kind, hopeful person, but he also is a courageous and honorable person. Talking about his wounds John says, “I'm a little sorry I wasn't wounded in the front; it looks like a cowardly to be hit in the back.” Despite the immense pain John must be experiencing because he “must lie on his wounded back or suffocate”, John does not regret the placement of his wound because of the pain. Instead he feels “a little sorry because a wound in the back “looks cowardly”. Alcott conveys her experience, but also conveys her emotions. While reading ‘The Death of a Soldier’, one feels what she felt and sees what she saw. The reader has no choice but to sympathize with and care for the man who with his dying breath said, “tell them I did my best.”

Many Forms

Death has many forms, the well known is death to the grave. When you kindly die of old age it is peaceful, but when the life is strangled from your body death is slow and painful. Yet a less known death is quite deceitful. One might appear alive, breathing, but the mind is empty and despite its beating the heart is shattered to a million shards.  

Be not forgetful

When the one who loved you loves you no more, you can never forget them, even if they forget you. 

When the one who hides in your dreams never even looks you in the eye, you can't help but fall for him anyway, even though you know they'll never love you back. 

But if the one who stopped loving loves again, and if the one who couldn't bring himself to look at you says he'll love you forever, be not quick to forget what they first thought, and always remember that 'forever' doesn't exist. 

I found an old notebook!!!

Recently, after going through some a storage bench, I found a notebook with some of my old poems and stories. Some of them are dated, so I'll post the dates if I have them. I'll begin tomorrow :) 

Mirrors

A little something I wrote years ago and found today while cleaning up my Dropbox:

Mirrors shattered, hearts broken

Scars left, smiles faked

Plastic people, fake friends

The ones you trust turn on you again

Leaving shattered mirrors and broken hearts

I hold my head up high,

Faking confidence

So you can’t see the tears I hide inside

Beautiful books

Beautiful books

Singing out their lovely words,

Quite like birds

My favorite character dies, so I hurl it against the wall, *bang*

It lies there on the floor, begging me to reclaim it's magical pages

Dear Hemingway once informed me that there is no better friend than a book

Shall I begin again?

Of course I will, if only for the sadness to end. But then also, will the joy. 

The Time Keeper's Daughter - Chapter 2

I barely stopped myself before plummeting to an early and unfortunate end. I began my ascent up to the clock’s face. I climbed up the staircase, marveling at its condition. Upon entering the tower I had half expected the stair to give way under me. But no. It was well preserved even though it looked centuries old. How is it possible? It looked as though someone had been maintaining the tower in spite of its near impossible entrance.

            I ascended the staircase, up and up. Upon reaching the top, I gazed at the scene before me, the jewel encrusted clock face staring back at me. I started when I realized how much time must’ve passed! The clock now read 7:42 and the sky was dark, I didn’t notice before, but the bells had stopped ringing and outsides no one was clamoring for escape.

            The bells typically indicated an emergency. For example, invading armies or a large house fire that required all hands. After noticing this change of scene, I walked back down the spiraling stairs. I passed my entry, but the stairs continued downward. It was much easier to climb down, but the further down I went, the less sturdy and up kept the staircase became. This unnerved me greatly. At one point, my foot went entirely through a stair, the wood cracking and falling what seemed to me hundreds of feet. If I fell through, I would die. My heart sped and my head spun. “Hello Lily,” came out of the darkness and I considered falling purposely. “Hello?” came my meek reply.

“I’ve been expecting you.”

“Who are you? How are you even here? Did you come through the hole in the wall too?” said I.  “Oh lily, I have so much to tell you. I live here my dear. One day, you also will live here,” said the unfamiliar man, stepping out of the shadows. Now that I could see him, I trusted him. He had well groomed, albeit long, brown hair and a light dusting of a beard. His eyes though, sealed my trust. They were blue, like mine, with brown flecks that seemed to shine and sparkle in the light, almost like gold. I put aside any ideas of jumping to my death. “But how did you get in?” I asked more confidently. “I’ve always been ‘in’” was his reply, “I’ve only left this tower once, for you.”